


Eyeliner Smudges.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Category: Green Day RPF
Genre: Kink, M/M, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-07
Updated: 2005-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a show, Billie Joe goes headtripping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyeliner Smudges.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Drumporn. Kink.  
> Dedication: For sorchar.

"Mike Dirnt," Billie Joe announced, so close to the mic that he was almost swallowing it, "has crossed the picket line. Congratulations, Mike." His voice echoed in the empty stadium. The crowd had long ago left and even the cleaning crews had packed up. They were the only ones left, drinking up the feeling of _post-concertus _while waiting for the crew to come and take away the equipment. Tre hadn't wanted to leave his drumkit, so the trio were the only ones left, waiting under the bright floodlights until they could go back to the hotel and crash. "Mike has won a lifetime's subscription to--"

"Fuck you," Mike called. He was sprawled near the bottom of the stage, sucking the filling out of Twinkies. "You'll be the first one against the wall when the revolution comes."

Billie looked interested. "Yeah? What revolution?"

"The revolution of the _mind_, man." Tre was still sitting behind his drumkit. "Didn't get an invite, Billie?"

Billie flipped him off behind his back. "Mike has won a lifetime's subscription to Time magazine…"

Mike booed him loudly from the front. Tre started clapping slowly.

"The worse sell out," Billie went on, "since Joe Jackson. The shill for the fucking establishment who has, drumroll please."

There was a pregnant pause. Billie refused to turn around, giving the non-existent audience a long-suffering look. Tre looked innocent. Mike laughed. He pushed himself up off the ground and climbed onto the stage.

"Pricks," he said fondly, then plugged his bass into the amp and started picking out Longview, pointedly ignoring his bandmates.

Billie returned the favor. "I said," he said, "drumroll, please."

Tre coughed loudly. Mike started humming under his breath.

Billie turned around and gave Tre his best glare. "Don't make me come over there."

Tre held his hands up, but the effect was ruined by the drumsticks he was twirling between his fingers. "Or you'll do what?"

"Do it my fucking self."

Tre laughed. He tossed Billie the drumsticks, who fumbled the catch and picked them up off the floor. "Go ahead. Be my guest."

"Stupid cunt." Billie walked over, then straddled Tre's lap. He wasn't going to give Tre the satisfaction of asking him to move. "As I was saying," he said, as if Tre and Mike hadn't just staged a successful mutiny, "Mike Dirnt has won a subscription to Time Magazine, who has, drumroll please." Billie rubbed himself against Tre's lap as he did a short drumroll. Tre, predictably, was hard. Stupid cunt. "Who has just declared a true American Idiot its man of the year."

"Yeah?" Mike looked up. "And what've I done to deserve that dubious honor?"

"I think it's 'cause you fucked me last night," Tre said from beneath Billie, "instead of letting Billie shove his cock down your throat."

Mike laughed. "That your problem, Billie? Fuck, man, we could've done both at the same time."

Billie told them in very strong terms what he thought of that idea. Before Tre had the time to say anything else or refute any points, Billie turned around on Tre's lap and kissed him long and hard.

Mike unplugged his bass and put it back in its case before going over to join them. "Pricks," he repeated, this time to himself. "Belong in kindergarten."

Tre's hands sneaked up and, with a drummer's efficiency, loosened Billie's tie without breaking the kiss. The tie found its way to the floor and Billie pushed closer. Kissing Tre was never boring. He tasted like pot and cigarettes and spicy fries. Tre's mouth was a junkie happy meal with a special Tre toy. Billie broke the kiss to pull Mike in. Mike tasted like pot and cigarettes and onion rings and a bit of bubblegum. Billie released Mike and went back to Tre, comparing tastes.

"Green Day sandwich." Mike announced when it looked like Billie was done with his tastetesting. He licked up Billie's cheek and winked. "Who's on bottom?"

"Uh." Tre said. "Looks like I am." Billie was on his lap, Mike was almost on top of Billie, and Tre was a set away from suffocating.

"Good." Billie gave Tre a wet smack on his nose. "It was your turn anyway." He slid off of Tre's lap and rummaged around the back of the stage. "Mike, could you get Tre into position, please?"

Mike snorted. "Billie, your headtrip's boring me."

"Fuck off, or it'll be you I'm tying down." There was a pause, then, "found it!" Billie raised the rope above his head like a trophy.

"All right, all right." Tre sighed and bent himself over the drumkit. Billie tied him down, then reached around to take down Tre's pants. Tre went commando as usual, and Billie slapped Tre's ass.

"Spread your legs a little more. Better." Billie picked up Tre's drumsticks and passed one to Mike. Mike started to grin slowly, more Grinch than Cat.

"You have the best ideas." Mike kissed Billie soundly.

Tre tried to turn his head. "What? What idea?" He groaned. "This is going to hurt, isn't it?"

"Don't worry, it's not a bong." This time. "Or a breadbox." Maybe next time. "Or a pan." That's taking pansexual a little too far.

"Not whittling it down here, guys," Tre called. "C'you be more specific?"

"No," Mike said firmly. "Don't make me gag you with Billie's jockstrap."

Billie looked shocked, appalled, and offended. "What? I'm not wearing a fucking--"

"Shove it. Saw you put it on."

Billie gave a martyr's sigh. "Fourteen years, millions of records sold, thousands of toured cities, and I still get no privacy."

"'Fraid not." Mike took Billie's tie off the ground and used it to gag Tre.

"Oh, well. The sex is still good." Bille slid his fingers through Tre's hair, almost petting him. "Which of us first?"

"Do it together," Mike suggested. Tre made garbled noises that sounded suspiciously like _tell me that the fuck you're doing, guys, or I'll string you up with guitar strings and demolish the hotel room_.

"Like that. Together." Billie grinned. "Ready, Tre?" The noises changed to sound like _and your dog, too!_, and Mike laughed.

Together, working slowly, with their elbows crossed to get their hands close together, Mike and Billie pushed Tre's drumsticks up his ass. Tre figured it out after a prolonged second, then spit the gag out and started cursing.

"...going to fucking _kill_ you..."

"That wasn't what you said last night," Mike said.

"What did he say last night?"

"Begging for more."

"Ah. That's like him."

"Still swearing purple, though."

Billie tsked. "Such a filthy mouth."

"Yeah. Pity."

Tre whimpered, but, almost imperceptivity, began pushing back against the sticks. No one could see it, but his face was beat red and he was halfway between wincing and smirking.

"Hey, Mikey, I think he likes it."

"I think he does, too." Mike pushed the stick in further. Billie followed a heartbeat later. "Tre, what do you think? Do you like it?"

Tre'd managed to get one hand free of the rope, and he responded with a solitary finger.

"Well, if that's the way you feel about it..." Billie and Mike pulled the sticks out in one fluid motion. Tre cursed under his breath. Billie let the pause grow long, then laughed. "We'll continue this at the hotel."

The equipment crew had good timing. They waited until Tre had his pants up again before coming forward from the back of the auditorium.


End file.
